


Repeat After Me

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now,” Brittany says firmly, poking Santana’s ear. “Repeat after me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat After Me

In Mrs. Farmer’s first grade class, they’re seven and they are  _not_  friends.

Santana can’t get her alphabet down. She’s tried and tried and tried – and she gave up, because everyone learned them  _last year_  – but she mixes her Q and her P and she always leaves out her L.

Brittany, the tall girl who sits next to that evil Quinn Fabray robot-girl, offers to help, because it’s what she’s good at.

Brittany can’t throw a dodge ball to save her team, but she can recite her alphabet frontwards and backwards and even if Santana beats every boy at recess – even Noah Puckerman – her mother says that  _boys_  games won’t get her into college and she needs to learn her alphabet and her numbers and all the Spanish words her father tries to teach her on Sunday’s after church.

“You’re not doing it right,” Brittany says patiently.

Santana bares her teeth and growls. “I don’t care. It won’t matter anyway. Pretty soon, they’ll give us grades because we’re pretty, not because we’re good at school.”

Brittany tilts her head thoughtfully. “Will I get good grades too?”

 _Yes_ , is Santana’s first though, but she just growls again instead. “Just say that I got it. Recess is almost over.”

The blond shakes her head and sits a little taller in her chair. Santana groans and drops her forehead to her workspace.

“Now,” Brittany says firmly, poking Santana’s ear. “Repeat after me.”

She moves through the alphabet and Santana waits until Brittany says the whole thing twice before she even thinks about saying it back.

“A, B, C,” she grumbles, using the metal ring on her pencil to carve her name into her desk.

Santana doesn’t start repeating the entire thing until she looks up somewhere between R and W and sees Brittany smiling at her: wide and bright and eyes shining.

She never forgets another L.

\---

Brittany, nine and still towering over mostly everyone in the class, taps her feet against the classroom floor impatiently.

Santana looks over, laughing a little, but the teacher at the front of the room frowns at Brittany.

As soon as the teacher turns back to the board, Brittany starts tapping her feet again.

“Do you have to go the bathroom, or something?” Santana asks, her eyes lighting up. Bathroom trips are fun because they need to go with a buddy and Brittany  _always_  picks Santana and they sit on the edges of the sink, because Santana thinks it’s cool and Brittany thinks that if Santana thinks it’s cool, it is.

“No, I just want recess to be here,” Brittany whispers back.

Santana sits back in her seat and stares. Brittany hates recess, because Noah and Finn like to make fun of them and try and pull Brittany’s hair; Brittany hates recess, even when Santana kicks Noah and Finn in the shin and other places where it hurts.

“What’s your rush?”

Brittany gives her a tight-lipped smile.

The clock finally hits ten-thirty and by the time Santana manages to get outside – her shoes are untied and she’s not allowed to go to recess until she ties them, tight – Brittany is sitting under the tree, far away from Quinn and the rest of the girls.

“Buy Velcro sneakers,” she says impatiently.

Santana lifts an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You’re  _always_  late because you have to tie your shoes,” Brittany continues, completely unaffected by the glare she’s receiving. She pats the empty space next to her, looking up at Santana expectantly. “Sit down. I have something for you.”

Santana stops glaring and drops to the dirt, not caring that her mom told her not to get her pants dirty “ _just this once, mija.”_  She claps her once and grins. “What is it?”

“Calm down,” Brittany snaps kindly. For the first time, Santana notices Brittany is wearing a new bracelet and it’s really shiny. Brittany grabs the bottom of Santana’s chin and lifts it back up. “Pay attention. My mom says this is very serious business.”

Santana wants to tell Brittany that her mom is all kinds of crazy, but she nods and tries to sit still.

Brittany reaches into her pocket and slowly brings her hand out, clenched like a fist. Slowly, she opens it and there’s another bracelet inside, just like Brittany’s. “It’s for you,” Brittany whispers, ducking her head lower, her forehead skimming across Santana’s. “I bought it with my birthday money and my mom says that if you wear it, we’ll be best friends forever.”

“We’re already best friends forever, silly,” Santana says, bumping Brittany’s shoulder.

The blond catches Santana’s flailing hand and holds it still in her lap, looping the bracelet around her wrist and fastening it. “Now we’re best friends _forever_.”

“Forever,” Santana echoes, turning her wrist over, watching the bracelet move.

“Now we have to take the best friend oath.”

Santana frowns. “There’s a best friend oath?”

“Of course there is,” Brittany says seriously. “You just repeat everything I say.” Brittany waits until Santana nods before she starts. “I, Santana Lopez.”

“I, Santana Lopez,” she repeats.

“Swear to be Brittany’s best friend forever.”

“Swear to be Brittany’s best friend forever.”

“Because she’s pretty and she’s tall and she’s always right.”

Santana frowns, but mumbles the words. Brittany smiles brightly and nods.

“All done.”

“What about me?”

Brittany tilts her head to the side and smiles. “What about you?”

“Don’t you have to say that kind of stuff about me?”

Brittany tilts her head up upright and laughs a little. Santana crosses her arms over her chest again and tries to glare, but she can’t. “I already did. In my head. It still counts that way.”

Santana is going to argue, but Noah Puckerman kicks a dust cloud at them, whoops, and takes off running. She turns towards Brittany expectantly, her feet already itching to move, but she doesn’t take off after him until Brittany sighs and nods.

“Go,” she says wearily, grinning the minute Santana turns and runs.

\---

“That’s not how it goes,” Brittany says lightly, not looking up from her  _American Girl_  magazine.

Santana stops humming under her breath mid-word. “How do you even know I got it wrong?”

Brittany taps her ears and smiles. “I can hear everything.”

“Like hell you can,” Santana mumbles.

Brittany sits up on the bed, swinging her feet over the edge of Santana’s bed, glaring. “You’re not supposed to say that word,” she hisses.

Santana crosses her arms over her chest and smirks. “Says  _who_?”

At twelve, Santana is what her mother calls  _possessed, ungrateful_  and  _demanding_. Her father smiles fondly at her and tells her that she knows what buttons to press and when to press them, but she’s going to get herself in trouble one day.

“Says  _everyone_ ,” Brittany says back, rocking forward onto the very edge of the bed. She looks terrified, as if Mrs. Lopez is going to come through the door at any moment, but she also looks – Santana notes with a feeling of smug satisfaction – impressed. “Where did you even learn that word?”

Santana puffs her chest out a little. “From Puck.”

Brittany’s nose crinkles. “He’s gross.”

“All boys are,” Santana agrees, belly-flopping onto her bed. Brittany giggles and squirms away when Santana grabs her around the hips and moves her fingers. “They definitely have cooties.”

“Definitely,” Brittany breathes out, flopping back onto the bed. “Your cheer is still wrong,” she mumbles.

Santana shrugs her shoulders. “Who cares,” she says. “Cheering is stupid.”

“Quinn doesn’t think so,” Brittany says quietly, rolling onto her stomach, not looking at Santana.

“Oh,” Santana says, tensing. “Well, who died and made Quinn boss, anyway?”

Brittany’s shoulders drop back down under her ears and her mouth widens to a smile. “No one,” she says.

Santana thinks about telling Brittany she wasn’t looking for an answer, but Brittany is grinning wide and Brittany’s mom will be by to pick Brittany by soon, so Santana rolls her eyes, smiles, and lifts Brittany to her feet.

“Teach me?”

Brittany nods and shows Santana the arm motions without the words, and then adds the words later, right before her mom gets there.

Santana doesn’t stumble through it once.

\---

Brittany smiles, but it’s a shy smile and her head is tilted down and Santana knows that this means she’s nervous.

Santana’s nervous too, but she’d never admit it, because she’s the one who suggested this in the first place. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she pushes them further into the pocket of her red Cheerios sweatshirt and shivers against the cool summer night air.

“We can’t go into high school never having been kissed, right?”

Santana nods mutely.

Brittany lifts her head and looks her square in the eye. “No, S,” she says firmly, taking a small step forward, “you said it first.”

It’s Brittany asking again, without asking.

“We can’t go into high school never having been kissed,” Santana says firmly, her fingers clenched inside her pocket. “Quinn has already been kissed,” she adds.

Brittany doesn’t look like she cares though; Santana doesn’t really care either, but she’s trying to give herself a reason to do this – a reason other than “ _I want to_.”

“You could kiss Puck, you know,” Brittany says softly.

Santana’s head lifts slowly. “I could.” She sucks in a breath and lets it out. “My mom said a first kiss is important.”

Brittany nods. “My mom too.”

“And that it should be with someone you really like,” Santana continues, taking a step forward. “You’re my best friend.”

Brittany smiles lightly. “You’re my best friend too, so that works, right?”

Santana nods, trying to seem sure. “That works,” she whispers.

Brittany closes the rest of the gap first, the tips of her toes against Santana’s. “We can’t go into high school never having been kissed,” she says again.

Santana feels her hands leave her pocket and catch the edge of Brittany’s long-sleeved shirt and then she can feel warm skin under her fingertips and Brittany is smiling, which makes this easier. She lifts onto her toes – Brittany is still that much taller – and she’s so close she can smell Brittany’s breath as it runs across her cheek.

“We can’t go into high school never having been kissed,” she repeats so quietly she’s not sure that she said it out.

She must have, because Brittany nods – Santana ignores the way Brittany is shaking against her body – and dips her head down and they’re kissing.

It’s short, chaste and when Brittany pulls back, Santana already wants to do that again.

\---

When Brittany finds her in the bathroom at one of Puck’s parties, Santana has already had a few, to wash away the taste of Puck’s tongue in her mouth, because Noah Puckerman is just as gross at sixteen as he was at six.

She’s had a few and she’s tipsy.

Brittany closes the door behind her quietly and stands against it, arms crossed over her chest, staring with a look Santana can’t put a name to.

So Santana grins and staggers the couple of steps between them, her arms coming up on either side of Brittany. “Hey, babe,” she whispers, dropping her head to Brittany’s shoulder.

Brittany’s arms wind around her waist. “Hey yourself. Why are you hiding away in here?”

Santana pulls back and smiles. “Puck keeps trying to get me to his room, or something.”

Brittany doesn’t smile or laugh or even frown and Santana thinks that maybe the look Brittany had earlier was something like hesitancy. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

Santana frowns and takes a step back. She knows that she and Brittany haven’t really figured out what it is they’re doing yet – the kissing and the hands and the late nights – but she kind of thought that it was unspoken rule: if they’re kissing each other, they’re not kissing other people.

The look on Brittany’s face, though, says something else.

“Britt, what are,” but she stops, in the middle of her sentence, because Brittany is biting her bottom lip like she’s guilty and Santana’s head clears instantly because that smell isn’t Brittany. It’s more…guy.

“You should go with him,” Brittany says encouragingly, pushing off the door. “He seems like he really likes you.”

“He really likes my ass in these pants,” Santana says dully, her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“You think Puck is a dirty pig. You’ve  _always_  thought Puck was a dirty pig. And now you want me to go have sex with him?” She takes a step forward and Brittany shrinks back against the door. “So,  _what_?”

The first time Brittany says it, it’s so quiet, Santana is sure she heard something else. When Brittany says it again, Santana’s head starts to spin and she feels like she’s going to fall over if she does something as simple as take a breath.

“I just had sex with Mike,” Brittany says a third time.

Santana puts her hand up when Brittany tries to take a step forward.

“But it didn’t mean anything,” Brittany says quickly, bypassing Santana’s outstretched arm and trapping her against the sink. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is hanging open and usually, Santana would laugh and kiss away the confusion, but she can’t make herself move.

_Brittany had sex with Mike._

“Sex isn’t dating.” Brittany sounds desperate.

Santana finds her voice. “Yes it is.”

Brittany shakes her head too many times and Santana’s vision starts to swim so there are three different Brittany’s, all shaking their heads. “No,” she says hoarsely, grabbing Santana’s face in her hands. “Sex isn’t dating.”

Santana struggles to get out of Brittany’s grip, but she’s had a few – because she didn’t want Brittany to kiss her later and taste Puck – and she’s tipsy and Brittany is abnormally strong.

“Say it, Santana,” Brittany pleads. “Sex isn’t dating.”

“No,” she refuses, the word breaking.

“Say it,” Brittany says again, stepping closer, her feet practically on top of Santana’s. “Santana,” she says, low and in the back of her throat, her fingernails digging into Santana’s skin by her ears, “ _say it_.” Brittany’s shoulder’s drop and her hands relax, cupping one side of Santana’s face. “Please. I need you to say it.”

“Sex isn’t,” Santana starts. Her mouth feels dry her throat feels like its closing.

“Sex isn’t dating,” Brittany prompts.

“Sex isn’t dating,” Santana breathes out.

Brittany collapses against Santana, her head fitting into Santana’s neck, her body molding to Santana’s. “So I didn’t do anything wrong,” Brittany whispers against Santana. “Sex isn’t dating, so I didn’t mess us up, okay? I didn’t mess us up.”

“Sex isn’t dating,” Santana repeats, one arm wrapped around Brittany’s shaking shoulders. “Sex isn’t dating.”

Santana keeps telling herself that, even more after she sleeps with Puck the first time, because he’s the kind of guy that actually believes that sex doesn’t mean you’re dating,

Santana keeps telling herself that, because if that’s what Brittany wants, that’s what Brittany will get.

\---

Santana closes her eyes and when she opens them again, its graduation day and she’s wearing some hideous red gown. It’s all a little too  _High School Musical_  for her.

Brittany finds her in the crowd before they have to line up to march out and says something to Quinn before weaving through the red and white sea, stopping short in front of Santana. Brittany smiles widely and leaps forward, looping her arms around Santana’s neck.

They still fit perfectly together.

Brittany is grinning against her cheek. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“Pretty awesome,” Santana repeats, distracted. Her hands are clammy and her foot keeps tapping against the linoleum of the cafeteria where they’re waiting until the ceremony starts, and she feels like there’s a significant lack of fresh air in this room.

Brittany notices. “What’s wrong?”

Principal Figgins opens the door to the cafeteria leading into the quad. The cool air rushes through the room and Santana takes a greedy gulp. Brittany’s arms loosen and the blond pulls back a little, staring cautiously.

“What’s wrong,” she asks again.

For all her brashness and her better-than-you attitude, Santana has never been the one to step forward first. She’s always been half a step behind Quinn and Brittany has always been the one to define – or not define – this friendship and subsequent relationship they haven’t ever really talked about.

Santana is a follower – the perfect minion, really – not a leader.

She’s waited her whole life for this moment, for graduation, and she’s waited around six or seven or twelve years to hear Brittany say “ _I love you”_  and mean it in a way that isn’t just friendship.

So for once in her life, Santana decides to be a leader, instead of waiting for Brittany to step up.

“I love you,” she says, calm and even.

Brittany grins and pokes her in the side. “I love you too, silly.”

Santana shakes her head and Brittany’s smile fades. “No,” she says, her voice abnormally level. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Brittany says slowly.

“No, B, I mean that-”

Brittany catches Santana’s face between her hands and starts to smile again. “I know what you mean. I love you too.”

Santana blinks a few times before it settles in her head. “Yeah?”

Brittany’s nose crinkles. “Yeah.” She repeats.

“Say it again,” Santana says, her forehead pressed against Brittany’s, the crowd fading around them. “Say it again.”

Brittany smiles a little wider. “I love you. Always have, I think.” She tilts her head to the side, skin sliding against Santana’s skin. “Well, except for that one time in fifth grade, when you went away to summer camp without me. I kind of hated you for a bit then.”

“That’s why you never wrote me a letter?” Santana shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I love you now. Even if you were a bitch that summer.”

“I thought you just said it doesn’t matter anymore?”

Santana shrugs. “I got my moment of bitterness. And  _now_  I’m over it. I love you.”

“Keep saying that and people might start thinking you have a heart, badass.”

Santana remembers there’s a crowd around them. She pulls her head from Brittany’s and looks around: Quinn looks mildly disgusted, Puck is leering like a pig, and Mike looks like someone dropped an anvil on his toe. She turns back to Brittany and shrugs honestly. “Let them think what they want. I get you, right?”

“Right.”

Santana nods. “So forget about them.” She pauses and straightens up, her hands sliding around Brittany’s waist. “Say it again?”

Brittany shakes her head. “I love you, idiot.”

Santana grins widely and presses a chaste kiss to Brittany’s cheek, closer to her mouth than she intended – because they’re still surrounded by everyone. “I love you too,” she whispers.

“Line up, mouth breathers!” Coach Sylvester yells from the double doors. “I don’t want you infesting this school anymore than necessary.”

As they pass through the doors, Coach nods at them silently, her eyes narrowing as she looks past them.

“Hey, panty thief,” she snaps, pointing at Jacob Ben Israel.

Santana grins.

_Goodbye McKinley._


End file.
